Blind Date

"Pleasure meeting you, but I must go," I say hurriedly, and shake her hand. She starts to respond, but I've already taken a few strides toward the exit. As I leave the lounge, I notice that the reception seems to have broken up and there are several people standing near the elevator. I join the crowd, antsy and impatient, shifting my weight from foot to foot, awaiting the lift.

One arrives, and we all try to squeeze in. We make it, but just. Perhaps it is because my senses are heightened by my anticipation, but I'm noticing things that I usually tune out as I go about my daily grind. The aroma of humanity fills my nostrils: sweat, perfume, alcohol being purged through the skin, and something else. Musk. Not artificial musk, but that musky smell of sex, of lust, of want. 'Is that me?' I think to myself, and my focus turns inward. I shift my thighs slightly and notice that, yes, I can feel a bit of wetness, the lace of the g-string sticking slightly to my vulva.

Ding! Fourth floor and a couple in the rear of the car need to disembark. We all shift around to give them room, and as we do, I feel a hand tug at the bottom of my dress, fingertips just grazing my thighs at the tops of my stockings.

Damn. I know I told him that fantasy. It must be him...or, god, someone he shared it with. I didn't notice him waiting among the crowd for the elevator downstairs but, then again, at this point my mind is whirling so that I might not have. Perhaps I believe he is an illusion, a ghost, due to the ambiguity that surrounds this whole encounter thus far.

Ding! Tenth floor, and as we shift to let a larger group of people out, I feel a fleeting touch of lips to my neck. Just warm breath at first, then a whisper of a touch, then nothing. It seems as if every cell in my body is alive, and compelling me to turn my head, to confront the ghost. Then, a small minority within me speaks up saying deliberately, "No."

I realize then that is the crux. Submission for me, when it is good, involves going against every instinct you believe you have, and listening to the baser ones, the darker ones, learning patience and pacing and changing, ever so slightly, a core part of your personality. Resisting what normally drives you on, and embracing a place so different from your normal state of being.

Ding! Fourteenth floor. I await the touch that I think will come in the shuffle, but it doesn't come. I'm trying desperately to maintain composure, but my body is aching for that touch, and I'm sure my expression gives me away.

Ding! We've arrived at the sixteenth floor, and this time I move to depart. I concentrate hard, trying to listen for the sound of someone else getting off behind me: listening with my ears, my mind, my body. I feel as if they are all playing tricks on me, for at once I do feel someone, but when I focus harder, I can't hear or feel a thing.

I walk toward the room and decide that I will play this out. I will do what I have fantasized for what seems like an eternity. I will open the door, stand just inside, and wait a few beats, to see if he indeed has followed me there, whoever he is.

I hold the key to the pad and see the familiar green light flashing and hear the click of the electronic lock disengaging. I tug down at the handle, and step inside. My breath is ragged, heart racing, and my knees feel weak as I stand there, leaning just a bit against the door to stay steady.

I try to count in my head, telling myself I will wait thirty seconds, and no more. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand....but my mind is racing, and I realize after a short time that I don't remember the last number I chanted silently to myself. "This is silly," I think, and shift my weight to walk forward and let the door shut behind me when it happens.

Fingertips and palm come to rest on my right hip, insistent yet not demanding. Warm, moist breath tickles the nape of my neck and a jolt of wet tongue. Then, a body comes to rest against mine, hand pulling me in, another hand encircling my wrist against the door. I rest back into him without urging, and feel the length of his warm body against me, his hardness against my ass.

I don't believe I've breathed since that first touch, but now I do, expelling air in a long, ragged rush. Then I gulp more air in, trying to breathe deeply to stem the dizziness I feel, but I know it's not because of lack of oxygen.

It is because he is here, now, against me. Touching me. And we will finally meet.

-----

The hand on my wrist traces down my arm, grazes my shoulder, and snakes up into the hair at the nape of my neck. Fingers curl and entwine in those short, sensitive hairs, and subtly drive me forward into the room. My knees are definitely weak, now, and I wobble slightly as I move forward. But that hand at my neck steadies me, keeps me upright, spine erect even though I stumble.

Just as in my fantasy, there is a desk in front of me, and just to the left of it on the wall, a full length mirror. I gasp a bit, knowing I will see him soon.

But he stops me short of the mirror and tightens his grip in my hair, just slightly, then releases. I know that I must stand still, stay right here, without being told to.

"You were late," the soft, steady voice intones, "three minutes late, to be exact. I really don't like to be kept waiting."

"I'm sorry, I was talking to...," but I can't finish because you interrupt me.

"Did I indicate that an answer was required?"

I bite my lip, and look down, feeling my cheeks redden.

"Close your eyes, pet," you whisper, and I do, snapping them shut tight. I feel something being placed on my head, it, yes, it must be a blindfold. You are tugging it into place, adjusting it around my ears and hair. The inner face of it is soft, fluffy even, around the edges, with an indentation at the eye. I can open my eyes now, but I can't see anything. Light, even from the periphery, is completely blocked.

"Much better than a virtual blindfold, don't you think?" you ask, and I open my mouth to answer, then think better of it after your recent chastising.

"Let us get this straight right now, Johanna. When I speak to you, I do require a response when I ask a question. I don't wish any response at all when I make a statement. Is that clear?"

I gulp, and breathe out, "Yes."

I feel a hand on either hip guiding me forward until I feel the edge of the desk against my upper thigh. Then you press into me, and the edge grinds across my pelvis, just beneath my hip bones. I feel your cock, hard, insistent against me, and I gasp. Then, nothing - both your hands and body are removed, but I maintain pressing against the desk. At this point, I need to, for I fear if I don't, my legs will crumple beneath me.

"Bend forward."

I reach blindly in front of me, feeling for the opposite edge of the desk, and bend myself toward it. My hands stay curled around that edge, elbows pulled back to my side, and my cheek rests on the smooth wooden surface, which feels chilled against my warm skin.

Fingers start at my hair, and trace down my back slowly, two hands on either side of my spine. I feel a chill pass through me, and my hips move back, trying to feel you behind me. They reach my hips, then the outside of my thighs, then the hem of the dress, pull it up slightly, and trace the tops of my stockings.

The silence is deep, interrupted only by my irregular breathing, and as your fingers trace upward, I let out a small whimpering moan.

The skirt is pulled up so that my ass is exposed, and your fingers skim down my cheeks, lightly scratching. One hand traces down the valley between my cheeks, and rests momentarily on the outside of my panties. Then back up again, the pads of your fingers contrasting against that scratching feeling, fingers tracing a different path toward my hips. I feel a finger snake under either side of the g-string and tug downward, and air reaches my moistened lips, which contract with the sensation. The panties are pulled down just slightly, so that they rest just at the tops of my thighs, and I feel your leg between mine, kicking to widen my stance. You tug the wisp of lace a little lower, so that the strings are stretched across the expanse made by my parted legs, elastic resting just beneath the tops of my stockings.

And, for a moment, I feel nothing but my heart pounding against the desk, and my clit throbbing with want.

Then I hear a zipper, loud in the silent, breathless room. You press up against me before you have taken down your pants, and I feel the rough zipper against your cock, pressing into my naked ass. You step away, then back forward, this time with your pants off so that I feel your hardness with just a thin layer of material between us. Again, you step back, and I feel the absence of you as strongly as I felt your presence a moment before.

I feel something on the back of my thigh, inside, but it doesn't feel like a finger. Slowly tracing upward, ah, there, I felt air, then the flat of a cheek against my leg. I hear you take a deep breath, inhaling me, that muskiness that must be present, and then I feel something trail against my swollen, exposed labia. Mmmm, your tongue, and it starts to dance and flicker, causing my hips to buck just a bit. Then, it is removed.

Suddenly you press full against me, laying down on my back, and I can feel your skin against mine, your cock uncovered now.

"You are waiting. You think I'm going to stay true to the script in your head, and fuck you now," and as you say this, you grind into me, hard, "but this is not about you, Johanna. Not at all."

And with this, you hoist yourself up, gripping my forearms for leverage. I'm left there, breathing hard, panting even, trying to digest all of this: I am here, alone, with someone that I think I know, but don't. In a hotel, and no one knows where. If anything happened to me, if Daniel was not the person I perceived in our online conversations, no one would know, no one could come to rescue me.

My intuition was still telling me that I was fine, I was safe, but my brain was whirling with all of the possibilities, and it fed my submissive state. That edge, dancing on that edge, suspecting but not knowing—it all fed my desire, my lust, my yearning to just be taken over.

"Stand up," I hear, and you sound far away. I push up against the desk, upright, legs still spread where you pushed them. I turn my knees inward slightly, and my panties drop to my ankles. Still holding on to the desk for balance, I step out of them as best I can without the help of sight. It's a good thing, too, because when I next hear your voice, you say, "Come to me."

Now, I hope it's worked, so I don't trip trying to search out the sound of you. I walk in the direction that I heard you, slowly, testing each step before shifting my weight. My right leg hits something, the bed, and I shift to my left. From what I remember about the room, I think you're near the window, and there is a chair over there. I move along the end of the bed until I feel the absence of it on the outside of my right leg, then start to walk diagonally toward the chair.

"Wrong direction," you say, and your voice has moved. Now you are behind me, very close behind me, yet not touching. Still, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise atop goose-bumps, as a chill runs down my back.

"I didn't tell you to kick off your panties, did I?"

"N-no," I stammer, feeling a flush rise from my chest up into my face.

"You are not to think at all. Not to do anything of your own will. Your will is now my will. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I sigh, exhaling the word.

With that you grab my forearms and throw me to the right, and I fall onto the bed on my side. I hear nothing, but my excitement has risen dramatically, and I twist and writhe on the bed. My hands unconsciously go between my legs, trying to press, stem the throbbing I feel. Your hand snakes into my hair, as you say, "No." You don't raise your voice, don't betray any emotion with your tone, just say simply, evenly, in a very measured way, "I did not tell you to touch yourself. Now, get onto your knees."

I turn from my side and rise up onto my hands and knees, at this point not sure where he is, or which direction I'm facing. I crane my neck, stretching to hear, feel something, and I do, nearly simultaneously. A whistle of air, and a loud smack, and just a heartbeat before I connect the sound to the sensation across my ass. A stripe of feeling, loud, white, hot, tingling. The ruler...

"Why did you order a double when I specified one drink?" your voice comes just before another smack of the ruler, "Did you think you could get one over on me?" Whap. Whap. Two more land.

I sputter out, "No, I, I, was s-so nervous..." Whap.

"Don't lie to me, Johanna," still that even tone, but with an edge, a hard insistent edge to it, "you thought I'd never know, that you could do something bad, something against my wishes and I'd never know about it."

Whap. Whap. Whap.

"I, yes, yes, I did," I whimper.

"That wasn't a question, Johanna," whap. Whap. "It was a statement."

I bite my lip to stay silent, and brace for the next blow, but it doesn't come. I picture myself, how I must look, on all fours, stripes of red marking me, panting and heaving with a mix of pain, desire, humiliation, lust, just a bit of sweat shining on my skin. "Yes," I think to myself, "yes, I knew it would be like this."

I feel you roughly grab my exposed pussy, a fistful of my lips in your hand. Your thumb and forefinger find my clit, squeeze and twist. Then the flat of your hand, rubbing over me, spreading the unrelenting wetness that is now seeping out of me, painting my lips with it.

I arch my back, grind back against your hand, moaning, but you remove it. I let out a strangled cry then, coming from somewhere deep within. It sounds animal, other, not like me at all. I imagine I am above myself, listening to this girl, watching her squirm on the bed, her skin aching for a touch, any touch, anything to stem her urges.

Your weight on the bed wrests me from my thoughts, right in front of me. I feel your hands on my face, holding either cheek, caressing them with your thumbs. You start to speak to me, more softly now, "Beautiful. You are so beautiful like this. So much softer than the cocky girl at the airport. Soft and warm and breaking."

I can hardly breath, the sweetness in your voice almost too much to bear.

"You are more of a good girl than a bad girl, you know. More soft than you like to think you are. I wanted to meet you because I could see all of that, see inside you," you start, then the edge creeps back into your voice, slowly, "but I'm going to be cruel to you, because that cruelty brings out your softness."

You remove your hands and in a moment I feel something against my lips. They part of their own accord, reaching, sucking for whatever is offered me. My mouth closes around it, around you, around the head of your cock and I hungrily suckle, moving my lips down your shaft. You grab a hank of hair and stop me, so that I'm poised with half of your cock in my mouth, and I feel you lunge inside, pushing the head to the back of my throat.

I gag, the fullness choking me, squeezing tears from my eyes that soak the soft blindfold. You pull out, then push in again, again, again. I can barely catch my breath between each thrust. I can feel myself being raised off my hands with each plunge, and my knees bend to rest my ass on my heels for balance.

You won't let me go, your hands laced in my hair, fucking me, relentlessly, for what seems like an eternity. I feel you grow, hard, very hard, throbbing deep in my throat, and then you cum, deep, retracting a bit, filling my mouth so that it dribbles from the side as I gasp for air. Your movement stops, and I suck hungrily, teasing every drop from you, caressing your cock with my tongue, my lips. I can't get enough of you, but you pull back, pull out of my mouth, and I feel your weight, heavy, on the bed.

I sit there, licking my lips, panting, feeling my throat sore from the battering, licking my swollen lips, and I don't even care what I must look like. I hear your breathing, but nothing else, heavy breath echoing in my ears, my mind. Then your touch, softly, on either side of my head, grasping the sides of the blindfold and pulling up.

Although it is dark outside, the light in the room is bright and, of course, made brighter by the blackness I've been enduring. I open my eyes, blink a few times to adjust, and see your outline in front of me. I look down quickly, not sure if I should look at you, a blush rising into my cheeks because of my uncertainty.

"Look at me, Jo," you whisper, and I lift my eyes again, slowly, taking you in. You are leaning up against the headboard, and I see your legs first, following your thighs up to your cock. It is glistening with my saliva and your cum, still heavy but not erect, just swollen. Then your belly, and your nipple ring glistening in the light. Shoulders, chin, lips, nose....and my eyes come to rest gazing into yours. I take a deep breath, not quite believing that I am finally seeing you, in the flesh. I open my mouth, close it, open it again, wanting to speak, but hesitating because you haven't asked me a question.

You smile watching the confusion and need dance on my face, then open your mouth slowly.

"Hello, Johanna. It's a pleasure to meet you."